


Winter

by timmyyturnerr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bad Writing, End!verse, Endverse, F/F, Fluff, Sad, becuase i'll fuc king do it, dont question my ability to write sad things, everyone's a fucking chick okay, genderbent, girl!Cas, girl!Dean, girl!Sam, girl!adam - Freeform, human!Cas, i cant write to save my life, v sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 02:22:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timmyyturnerr/pseuds/timmyyturnerr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deanna watches Castiel from across their cabin, and thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter

**Author's Note:**

> this is literalyl dumb as hECK

Deanna watches her from across the cabin, and thinks back to the old her.

Castiel had been softer and more polished back then. Her just-below-the-chin hair was always one dark wave, her royal blue headband always kept in one place. Her button-up shirt had always been an almost translucent white, and her black skirt constantly kept ironed. The trench coat was kept even more perfect. Deanna knew that Castiel didn’t shave- hell, she probably didn’t even know how to work a razor, but her legs were always smooth and polished, like baby skin. She was slender, but she had a softness to her figure. Healthy. Radiant.

It wasn’t as though Castiel wasn’t beautiful anymore. Castiel could grow a female beard and she’d still look beautiful. 

Deanna looked at who Castiel was, now.

Under her oversized baby blue tunic and baggy, holey boyfriend jeans, Castiel had become thin, almost frail. She’d traded the necessities for drugs, Deanna knew that now. At first, it had been the excuse that “I forgot to eat,” because “I’m not an angel, anymore, Deanna,”. But it was clearly apparent that Cas would rather pop a few pills than eat a salad. 

Her nails were yellowed and short and torn from lack of self-care. They used to be painted black, constantly, but Cas had chipped it off long ago due to her new-developed anxiety. Not to mention the cigarette smoking, which was constant. Cas’ cigarettes for my alcohol, Deanna had thought to herself, rather than criticizing her for it. 

Scars dotted her hands and legs, ankles and wrists, from picking at scabs from wounds and bug bites. “Dont scratch,” Deanna would remind her, taking her wrist softly between two fingers and setting it on her side. It was night, usually, or maybe when she’d catch her doing it absently.

Cas would blush a soft pink against her paper-pale skin. “I cant help it,” she’d say.

There were some things Deanna did like, however.

Cas’ black hair had long since grown out now. It was past her chest, and wavy. Mostly dead from a lack of shampoo, regular trims, or any sort of brushing, but Deanna liked the mess. She had little braids here and there, some interwoven with dying yellow weeds that Cas refused to believe weren’t flowers. Once her makeup had worn off, Deanna had come to recognize her thick eyelashes. The looked almost like feathers to her, but she’d never mention that to Cas. It seemed almost cruel, like, “You traded your angel wings for pretty lashes!”, but Deanna never failed to recognize it.

A few years after Deanna had been forced to put a bullet through Sammy’s brain, after they shut down Heaven and Hell and the demons were gone, after they had groups going out, further and further each day to kill more of the crotes, Cas almost got taken out one day. Deanna didn’t know if it was because she was ten miles high or because Cas didn’t even know she had naturally shitty vision, but either way, together they’d broken into an Optometrist's place and stole some glasses that Cas picked out. They were round, like Harry Potter glasses, and Deanna had held back her snort.

But Deanna had a memory, a glimpse, stuck in her mind like a tattoo, of the way Cas had looked at her after she slid the glasses up her nose, blinking a few times. As though she was looking into her eyes for the first time, ever. The way Cas’ cold thumb had felt, brushing against Deanna’s cheek. The splatter of blood just above Cas’ right eyebrow. The dust in the air reflecting through the cracked glass of the shop window.

Then Cas had leaned in, ever so slowly, and pressed their lips together. Deanna had frozen on the inside, but her body had reacted, placing one hand on Cas’ slim waist and the other on her neck, still damp and pulsating from running away from the crotes. Deanna knew that Cas had only ever kissed one person- Meg- but it didn’t change the fact that for her first time it was great.

They’d separated what felt like seconds later, when in reality it had been minutes.

“Sorry,” Cas had murmured, but Deanna shook her head. “Don’t be sorry. Don't, ever.” 

Now, Cas was sitting across from Deanna, her black hair in her face, her glasses resting on her nose, drinking a cup of hot chocolate. One of her fuzzy socks had fallen down her skinny ankle. She was reading a book that was falling apart. 

The two of them hadn't talked much about the kiss since it happened, but it was almost Deanna’s every thought. When they’d found Amanda, escaped from hell, damaged but still smart, almost a better hunter than Deanna at that point, who was unhinged and jumpy, she’d taken Deanna’s place as “Fearless Leader.” And with Deanna sneaking across the snowed-in terrain of camp every night to snuggle up to Cas’ bony and always cold figure, she liked being called by her own name rather than something that made her sound bloodthirsty. 

Cas, after many minutes of glancing thoughtlessly at a page, finally glanced up at Deanna. Her blue eyes, darker and more worn after years of wear-and-tear, were a darker blue, but still a familiar warm shade.

“Deanna?” she whispered, her voice scratchy from drinking too much of her drink in a set amount of time, and not talking for awhile. She cleared her throat, blinked, and pursed her lips.

Deanna stared at her for a moment, before opening her arms in a familiar, beckoning sense both of them recognized. Cas, with a hint of a smile playing on her lips, dog-folded the corner of her paper back and leaned over, drawing the drapes of the cabin, darkening the room. She stood, walked over to Deanna, and fell into her warm arms again. The two of them laid on the bed for not any longer than two minutes before Cas sat up on the bed and wrapped her slender fingers around the zipper of Deanna’s jacket. She pulled it down, and Deanna wrestled her way out of it, letting it drop absently to the floor. Deanna worked off her sweat pants while Cas did the same with her jeans, and they both wriggled the way out of their shirts, giggling as they almost fell over into the twin-sized mattress.

They curled under the thin, ratty comforter, fitting their heads onto a single thin pillow. It made more sense for Deanna to be the little spoon, considering she had a pixie cut, but she liked having Cas’ tiny body in her arms, even if it meant getting strands of hair in her mouth. So there they laid, two idiots in the middle of winter in their underwear and on one of their cases, rainbow fuzzy socks.

Deanna laid close enough to lay her face on the back of Cas’ neck. She smelled like chocolate, cigarette smoke, and lavender. 

She smelled like home. The only place she wanted to be.

And she was going to keep it that way.


End file.
